Burn With Me: New Adult Romance (Take Me Home Book 1) (Take Me Home Series)

by SJ Cavaletti

  But I had to admit, even though this man was a total stranger who hadn’t known my Dad and really didn’t know me, I wanted him there.

  Me. Maeve, the introvert who loved to be alone in her room listening to music and was a black widow to all the boyfriends she never loved, wanted company.

  But not just any company. I wanted his company.

  If the Laundro-Man was about boundaries, mine had been well and truly pushed.

  Drake inspired soft hugs from me. This was something new. And liberating.

  10

  For the love of all that is holy, this Maeve had my head spinning. And my heart. And my dick was swinging in circles, too, if I’m honest.

  The way she turned around, round, beautiful eyes seductive over her ghost white shoulder. Damn if I didn’t want to throw her down and let everyone watch.

  But as we dressed, her little hands delicately tying her skirt back on, I knew there was so much more than just physical attraction with Maeve.

  Her courage. And confidence. It was not typical. At least not in the women I had been meeting.

  That was the thing that might have gotten to me even more than her beautiful face. This story about her Dad and his ashes, taking them without her Mom’s permission. Sneaking off into the desert with that crappy little tent and what had looked like very little to survive on. That took guts.

  I sure as hell liked a woman with gusto.

  When I first saw Maeve at Magpie, I was instantly attracted to her. She was my type for sure. Unlike a lot of men, I loved short hair on a woman. I loathed fake tans and fake lips. She was edgy looking but not overdone and had caught my eye immediately.

  After last night, and definitely after this shower, it was a lot more than physical.

  I cared. I cared what happened to her this week with her meager supplies. I cared what happened to her at her father’s ceremony. Hell, for some reason I even cared if her Mom would cuss her out or not when she got home.

  Question was: did I do the right thing offering a song for the last ceremony?

  I meant what I said. But as soon as I had said it, I realized it was a huge intrusion. And a massive commitment. Sure, she agreed, but was she just being polite?

  Nobody ever forgets the song played at a loved one’s funeral. I still remember my Grandma’s. “Spirit in the Sky.” In my head, every b note and f sharp, every bouncy and strangely happy lyric:

  When I die and they lay me to rest

  Gonna go to the place that’s the best.

  When I lay me down to die

  Goin’ up to the spirit in the sky…

  I was thirteen when she passed away, best Grams ever. Fun-loving, she pulled no punches and gave her life to me. She liked gin and tonics, Elvis Presley and really, all rock music. Spirit in the Sky wasn’t exactly Andrea Bocelli. An interesting choice for a funeral. It was a jamming party tune that made dying sound fantastic. Like you wanted to do it because heaven would be super fun.

  It was there, at my Grandma’s funeral, I was first inspired to be a rock musician. And write my own music. Those lyrics, that song, made my sorrow and sadness transform. In three minutes I went from feeling sorry for myself to feeling happy for my Grandma. She would dance forever and never get tired.

  Pow-er-ful.

  Could I even dream of doing the same for Maeve? Turn her sorrow into something else? With only a few days to write? And this thing with Jason had my head tangled up. Not my best song-writing zone.

  Maeve was such a sweet relief. She worked better than alcohol to distract me. Even with this sad news of hers, I didn’t feel melancholy around Maeve. That strength of hers. I wasn’t hanging with a girl. This was a real woman who knew how to walk through hell with her head high and shoulders broad.

  As we stood there, now dry and dressed, she shifted on her feet. Like she was going to make a break for it. I wanted her to stay.

  “Why don’t you ride around with us today?” I asked.

  “You sure?” She asked, but in a way I knew she’d say yes.

  Just then, we heard a “Hey, hey, hey…”

  It was Joey and Pika. Dicks swinging, balls tight up from the cold final rinse.

  “That was in-fuckin-credible! I’m gonna do that every day,” said Pika.

  “You two go in together?” Joey asked, still naked, standing very closed to Maeve. She didn’t flinch. This girl. Steel resolve. So sexy.

  “Yeah,” I said, then changed the subject, “Get dressed. I want to check out some art. There’s the giant gramophone, the elephant and the honeycomb… those should be good daytime visits.”

  Some art was much better at night when the lights went on.

  Joey and Pika grabbed their clothes.

  “Do you know of any camps where we can get food?” Maeve asked.

  “You hungry?”

  She shook her head, like a hummingbird flaps its wings.

  “I literally brought nothing to eat but nutrition bars.”

  That wouldn’t do.

  “We can go to Le Marais.”

  Le Marais was one of the oldest established “neighborhoods” at Uyu. Known for its pop up restaurants and food gifts.

  “I don’t want to mess up your plans,” she said, “There are usually big lines and waits to get food there.”

  “Eating can always be part of our plan.”

  As long as the menu includes you for dessert.

  “Thanks.”

  Pika and Joey returned, and the four of us headed to our bikes.

  “You guys wanna stop at Le Marais before doing other stuff?” I asked them.

  Pika piped up, “Awesome. You know I can always eat.”

  “I’m down. Follow me, Tribe,” Joey said, pushing off, ankles gathering dust once again.

  We rode off, and it was mostly a silent ride. All I could think about was this song. This promise. Words perched on the tip of my tongue, but they were flightless. I wanted to be sure she wanted me there for the last ceremony. I didn’t want to ruin her moment, if she wanted to be alone. I needed to ask her and make sure.

  Still, I didn’t want to ask in front of Pika and Joey, putting Maeve on the spot.

  Just say something, Drake.

  “So,” I said, over the three-foot expanse between my bike and hers, “Last night. You talked about the final night…”

  I struggled to say the actual words. Talk about her Dad. I didn’t want to upset her.

  “You mean spreading my Dad’s ashes?” She asked.

  “Should we call it a ceremony?”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  “Well, about that…”

  She looked away from the open expanse in front of her and tried to make eye contact, “You don’t have to… I know you said you would do a song but you don’t have to. It was a nice offer and all…”

  “No! I want to. I’m not trying to wiggle out of it. It was more me thinking I might be intruding.”

  We pulled into a camp called “Boulangerie” and put up our kickstands next to Joey and Pika.

  Maeve spoke, but quietly, I could tell she didn’t want Pika and Joey to overhear, though they were already making a beeline for an enormous structure that looked much like storefronts and apartments in Paris.

  “I actually would love to have someone, well, you, there,” she said, straightening her hair, “But don’t feel like you have to come up with something original. It’s a lot of pressure. Just do a song you think is appropriate and already know?”

  “I told you. I don’t do covers,” I smirked.

  A melange of scents wafted from the frontage of this Parisian street scene. It was much like the front of a set of a Broadway play. Not too wide, but with a second story and there were people sitting on a constructed balcony so I assumed the inside, unlike a set, was complete.

  “Smell so good,” Maeve said, closing her eyes and taking in the smell of baked good like it was an aphrodisiac.

  “Ma cheri,” I bent my arm against my hip, like a gentleman.

&nb
sp; “Ooooh la la,” she looped her arm through.

  Her skin on mine, even in this innocent context, sent a jolt through my veins. But the electricity was as brief as a lightening bolt. When we got to the line with the boys, she let go and the bang rumbled away at the speed of light.

  What was this girl doing to me? I wasn’t one to keep my guard up. I wanted to fall in love with someone. Having grown up with just my Mom, Grandma and me, I secretly yearned for a family of my own. That’s probably why I valued so deeply my Uyu Tribe. It was like a family. With brothers and sisters and Koa was like the Dad.

  I had loved in the past and told two women so. I had a girlfriend for a year when I first started gigging. After three months, I told her I loved her. Three months. But not three days. I already felt like I’d do anything for Maeve. Why?

  And I had never, ever written a song for a woman before. Was it the Jaeger that made me so quick to offer? No. I was used to being drunk and keeping my cool. I’d be a baby daddy by now if I didn’t know how to keep some wits about me while drinking.

  We hit the front of the line and Maeve squeaked. “Oh, my God. Eclairs!”

  Damn, she was cute.

  She went up to the bakery window and a guy with a wiry moustache and a top hat, sort of Greatest Showman, put an eclair in her hand.

  “I love your hair,” he said, “Very Amelie. You fit right in here, mon petit bonbon.”

  His silly attempt at a French term of endearment made her smile.

  That smile. It wasn’t there all the time. That’s why it was so special. Maeve’s standstill face was normally musing, pensive, almost brooding. Serious. And sexy. Her eyes bore holes through you, and intelligent thoughts flashed behind them. Like a Bond girl.

  So when she smiled, it was special. It was like waking up in the morning, cracking the curtain and feeling the heat of sunshine radiate on your face. Instant warmth. Instantly soothing.

  “Merci,” she gave a brief curtsey.

  I took my eclair and followed with a similar curtsey, making the guy laugh.

  When I turned around, Maeve had the eclair in her mouth, her eyes closed, her red lips wrapped around it and for fuck’s sake. It was impossible not to wish for a split second that it was my dick. I’m not immature. I swear I’m not. But the way she enjoyed that long pastry with glossy chocolate glazing? I knew it wasn’t, but it felt deliberately sexy.

  She finished her bite, and some cream from inside settled on her top lip. She chewed for a moment and then took her tongue, slid it over her lip and cleaned it up with a sensual swoop. At least it looked sensual to me.

  Cream.

  Lips.

  Sweet milk on her tongue.

  I could have taken her there and then. Thrown her and rest of the eclair down in the dust and taken a bite out of her neck. Her shoulder. Anywhere on her smooth, virginal white skin.

  She finished the rest of the eclair, took a finger and wiped it along the corner of her mouth, as if she had a bit of cream there and then licked her finger. Her red lips glided upward into a smile.

  “That hit the spot.”

  Yeah, it hit mine, too.

  We spent the day with Joey and Pika but didn’t talk to them much. Mostly, Maeve and I talked about the art, analyzing and dissecting it. Comparing it to other things we had seen. It turned out we were both music, art and poetry fiends.

  The daylight faded; the blazing sun of noon moving west and turning down the dimmer dial on the day. I hoisted Maeve up onto a wooden elephant sculpture. She was light, and it was like trying to move a butterfly upward. The breeze did most of the job.

  I used the u-shape of the elephant’s trunk to climb up its head and join her on the back of this beautifully carved, life-size beast.

  We dangled our feet over the edge, about twelve feet off the ground, and looked out into the distance. This had been my best ever day at Uyu.

  Maeve. This beautiful woman had so much to her. She was intelligent. She liked all the same things I did from Edgar Allan Poe to Tame Impala and the Foals. And her laugh. A laugh that sounded like the chimes my Grandma used to have on her front porch.

  Looking out at the dusty Plain it couldn’t have been more romantic to be looking out at the Eiffel Tower at sunset. We sat close. She bounced her legs back and forth and every time her body moved, her arm brushed up against mine.

  “What does your Mom think of Uyu?” Maeve asked. “Have you tried to explain it to her?”

  “Ha. Yeah. But you know how it is. Very hard to make it sound like what it is. I think she kinda gets it though. Anyway, when everyone came to Seattle the last time, my Mom took us all out to brunch. She really wanted to meet the crew, but more than that, she treated them like they were more than just friends. I think she always felt a bit guilty for me not having brothers and sisters. Or a Dad.”

  “What happened with him?”

  “Well, the good news is you can’t miss someone you never met. He left her before I was even born. So the story goes.”

  “Do you ever wish you could meet him?”

  I breathed in deeply, slowly through my nose. “I have a few times. One time in particular. I was at elementary school, like third grade I think, and we were learning about Ramadan and a girl sitting next to me asked, ‘is that what you celebrate instead of Christmas?’ But like, my Mom and Grams are white. Catholic. I had a total brain blip like, why on earth was my classmate talking crazy? I wasn’t Muslim! And it felt like some insult at the time… I know that sounds bad, but that’s what I felt. I don’t think I realized I didn’t look white to other people until then. And a few other weird thoughts over the years have gone through my mind about my Dad. Just the weird imagination of a kid. Probably every kid who hasn’t met a parent dreams up stuff.”

  “Sounds like a natural thing to do. Do you think you’ll ever try to find him?”

  “Nah. Kids of single parents? There’s always this guilt feeling inside. Like somehow pursuing a relationship with the person who abandoned you would disrespect the one who sacrificed everything. Like my Mom? She worked two jobs and somehow still played with me almost any time I asked. She figured out how to buy me football kit, a guitar… guitar lessons. I want her to feel like she filled the entire space. Even the one left by my Dad.”

  “That’s totally understandable, but you have to live your own truth, too. Do you want to know who he is?”

  I thought for a moment. Looking into the great, gray-brown expanse. Then back at her Bambi eyes.

  “No. I actually don’t. Somewhere along the way, my curiosity died. Does that sound bad?”

  “No. It sounds honest. It’s hard to care about people you don’t know.”

  “Mmm. And yet here we are caring about total strangers. Yearning to do it. Paying a premium to spread our love to those we don’t know. Ironic.”

  Her eyes were always soft, but they warmed me even more at that moment. Her eyebrows arched sweetly, fading the intense concentration her face usually wore.

  “Drake, thanks for… you know, bringing me in. Making me feel part of this. I honestly thought I was so independent. So strong. But before I met you, I have to admit, this week was looking pretty scary.”

  “You seem strong. I really admire your courage. To do what you’re doing.”

  “Well, what I’m saying is that I feel stronger with you. And I want you to know that. You’re very good at making people feel cared about.”

  My heart felt like a balloon filled with helium. Kinda floaty. Almost like it wasn’t even there anymore. But in a good way. It had been feeling heavy for a long time. Even before this thing with Jason.

  It was like she read my mind. “You’re not the typical musician rock star guy I meet. Much nicer,” she bumped her shoulder into my arm, a flirt disguised as a joke.

  “Oh? Not like ALL the rock star guys you meet, eh? You make it sound like you have a harem.”

  “It would be a reverse harem.”

  Naughty. And I stood corrected.

  “W
ell, Maeve, tell me how many guys are in this reverse harem of yours?”

  “Ha. None. None at all. I was kidding. But not kidding about meeting musicians. My Dad worked with loads.”

  “Oh? How’s that?”

  She looked in the near distance at a pair of people dressed as unicorns cycling past. A beat. A pause. She didn’t want to talk about it. She simply said, “Just for work.”

  And I let it ride because I knew that’s what she wanted.

  But what did I want? I wanted to make her spend the rest of the week with me. I knew I needed time to produce this miracle of a song for her. That meant time alone. But at least one more night.

  “It’s getting kinda dark. Should we go back to my camp?” I asked.

  “I should probably get some warmer clothes at mine before I go out. I could meet you later?”

  Oh no. Not letting you go this time, my dark fairy.

  “I have two offers you can’t refuse,” I said, “One, Jasmine has enough clothes to host New York fashion week. Two, El and I have food. Real food. Like as in, not a nutrition bar.”

  “Are you bribing me?” She asked, bringing her face so close to mine I could feel the gentle warm air from her mouth tickle my own.

  “Did it work?” I asked, moving a millimeter closer. Damn, I wanted to kiss her.

  “I would have come for free. If you said you wanted me there.”

  She leaned back on her arms, a subtle recline pulling those lips further away. I followed, leaning back as well. We were side by side again. She let her head fall back, closed her eyes and reached her soul toward the sun, like a blackbird preening its wings. The rays reached right through her core and illuminated her from the inside out. God, she was beautiful.

  And her skin. It beckoned me.

  I kissed her shoulder.

  Her eyes shot open.

  Alert.

  Surprised.

  But pleasantly.

  “Maeve. Would you like to come back to my camp? I’d like you to come out with me tonight.”

  11

  Those plump, ripe lips had touched my shoulder. I could still feel his kiss there, even though his mouth wasn’t. Like a footprint in the sand.